


Levi

by nick_i_kenicki



Category: Mr. Robot (TV)
Genre: Bonding, Family, Family Bonding, Fatherhood, First Kiss, Light Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-29
Updated: 2019-12-29
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:55:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22018246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nick_i_kenicki/pseuds/nick_i_kenicki
Summary: Elliot decides against all better judgement to stay at Tyrell's European house with him for support since Tyrell is getting his son back. They now have the time to talk about a few unsaid things.
Relationships: Elliot Alderson/Tyrell Wellick
Comments: 6
Kudos: 61





	Levi

**Author's Note:**

> This was written before the finale so uhhh rip to me but there's no spoilers so cool for you I guess. Also no beta as usual so I'm sorry if there's any typos.

It didn't feel right to do nothing. Life worked like a line of code. The beginning was the moment he set his hands on the keyboard. That was when Tyrell first reached out. The middle was his fingers flying, fast like they had their own deadlines. That part came in the form of a begrudging acceptance. He had no idea why he answered Tyrell's call and even less of an idea why he came running as if he had nothing better to do. The end was any break, jump, or exit– the moments he took to process. The moment he said yes to Tyrell's stupid request.

Where they were now felt like a blinking cursor on an empty page. Some would call it gutted. Others would call it hopeful, inspiring even. Since there was nothing to fix, there was nowhere to go. No expectations to uphold. Still somehow, in the living room of Tyrell's summer home, Elliot felt like he had to do something more.

"....Do you have a TV?"

Tyrell looked up from the book in his lap. He looked around the room like the TV was a petulant child he had lost track of. "There should be one in the sitting room. It's across from the kitchen."

Elliot didn't make a move to get up. Tyrell blinked, then heaved himself up and made a gesture to follow.

The room was almost identical to the living room, but miniature with an antique TV at the far wall. Elliot went the loveseat closest to the TV and sat. Tyrell, despite all of the other seats he could have chosen, sat directly next to Elliot.

Elliot sat with his knees together, taking up no more than the space allotted. Tyrell crossed his legs so the distance between them was basically nonexistent. The foot he had over his knee was bouncing.

"Could you stop it?"

"What?"

"With your foot."

Tyrell looked confused, then followed Elliot's gaze down the leg. That damn jiggling foot. He looked surprised like his own body had betrayed him, then he moved to unify both feet flat on the ground.

"Sorry."

Elliot let out a tight breath through his nose. All the sorries in the world couldn't make their situation any less awkward. Luckily, when the TV snapped on, it was blaring some obnoxiously loud commercial. The dichotomy between the two of them stuck together in that bleak house juxtaposed over the children on screen in their saturated hellscape served as the perfect distraction. There was comfort in the noise. It filled the empty space. 

That was, before Tyrell started fiddling with his hands.

"For fuck's sake. What is wrong with you, man?" Elliot snapped.

"Me? What is wrong with you? You're acting like everything I do is annoying."

"Everything you do is annoying."

There was a pause of silence. Long enough for Elliot to realize what he had said was harsh, but long enough again to realize he didn't quite care. After a moment to ponder that, Tyrell got up again.

"Do you want tea?"

Elliot huffed. "Sure."

Tyrell turned and went to the kitchen. The sound of him rifling around drew Elliot up from the couch to join him.

The kitchen was immaculate, like a room straight out of a catalogue. If Elliot didn't know any better, he'd think he was in a commercial with the word 'Rustic' pasted somewhere in the corner. Somehow though, the visage of him and Tyrell skulking around a mysteriously decorated house didn't seem to suit an ad. Too ambiguous, he supposed. Not family, not quite friends. Just two men in a big emptiness.

"Sorry I don't know my way around tea. Joanna always took care of all this." Tyrell said, looking between a kettle and pot on the stovetop.

Joanna his wife.

"She made her own tea?" Elliot asked. He could barely recall what she looked like beside a few tense conversations and TV appearances, but the idea of her doing anything herself was preposterous.

Tyrell looked up. He noticed the look on Elliot's face. "Well no. She didn't even like tea. She just handled the people who handled things like this." He sighed and moved to fill the kettle with water. Elliot leaned against a counter and watched.

One interesting side effect of having a shitty childhood was that Elliot had an almost superhuman ability to sense the changes in people's mannerisms. And by interesting side effect, he meant the worse fucking thing. It plagued him so badly that he could feel when Tyrell shifted. 

Elliot stood a little straighter.

"This is really weird. Being here like this," Tyrell laughed while he figured out the stove. His face dropped fast. "You know I liked you Elliot."

No.

"I loved you."

Shit.

Coming was a mistake. Being normal with Tyrell was too much of a culture shock. The idea that they didn't have to use hushed voices in corridors or encoded messages on burner phones was a lot. Theoretically they could just talk. They could talk like all the normal fucking people who got by just fine on talking.

It felt impossible for Elliot though. The hiss of the fire seemed to accentuate every uncomfortable thought.

Elliot sighed and pushed past Tyrell who was so focused on what he was saying that he hadn't noticed the fire was too high. He turned down the fire and moved the kettle on the eye while Tyrell just watched. They were shoulder to shoulder. 

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why did you . . . love me?"

Tyrell mulled it over for a moment. His hand moved to rest on Elliot's shoulder, who flinched a little at the touch but made no move to leave. "You made me feel real. You made it all feel real. Like a visionary. A revolutionary. A godsend." He closed his eyes. "I never felt real excitement till I met you. And I loved that."

Elliot shrugged under Tyrell's hand. "And now?"

Tyrell just smiled, a strange little smirk that curled the corners of his lips too much and Elliot decided not to inquire any further.

After awhile, the tea finished boiling and they poured two mugs. Before they could bring the drinks back to the TV room, Tyrell's phone started buzzing. He pulled the phone from his pocket and answered.

"Hallå?" Tyrell asked The voice on the other side of the line was low but Tyrell's eyes went wide. It was hard to understand but Elliot knew what was happening based on the reaction. 

It was happening. The reason he had come to be with Tyrell in his stupid European cottage in the first place. 

For his son.

….

They didn't talk much about the boy before the request. Tyrell talked about how his eyes were unmistakably Wellick. It was hard for Elliot to imagine those cold blues on a baby but he digressed.

The point of the trip was to get him back, which after everything, was surprisingly easy. Elliot didn't even have to 'move around' any files to speed the process up. All the center needed was some proper ID (which was barely necessary in the world after 5/9) and a few signatures. The hard work had been done months prior.

Elliot had no idea why Tyrell asked for his company while he got his son back, but after everything– he didn't have a heart to refuse. And with Robot lingering on the inside more often, Elliot decided that he was maybe a little lonely. Not that he'd ever admit it out loud.

The call was straightforward. Come get him. He's ready to come home. In some screwed up recess of his mind, Elliot's panic reflex rang like an alarm. What if it was a trap? Would it be the last time he saw Tyrell before a mysterious assailant came for him?

"Be careful." Elliot offered.

Tyrell patted the side of Elliot's face and left without any guarantee that he would.

As Tyrell pulled out of the drive to go retrieve his son, Elliot realized he could never be sure and that there was no point getting worked up.

He drank his tea, watched TV, and waited.

After a few hours, the car pulled back in. Elliot stood up and watched from the window. Tyrell was alive, which would always come as a relief in their situation. He didn't get out of the car immediately though and upon further scrutiny, Elliot saw why. 

Tyrell had his head hung low, forehead against the wheel. He was shaking. Strapped in a car seat behind the passenger's seat was him. The boy. Tyrell's son. He was sucking absently at a worn looking pacifier.

Elliot went out to the driveway and knocked on the window. Tyrell didn't look up but the baby looked over. He whined a little when he saw Elliot and struggled against his seatbelt. Tyrell still made no move to get out or get his son out.

Elliot knocked on the window again. "For fuck's sake man, come on. Get your kid."

Tyrell paused, then rolled down the window. He looked at Elliot with that pathetic look he wore so well and asked, "Was this a mistake?"

Elliot didn't even entertain the idea with a reply, he just rolled his eyes and reached to unlock the door. He moved to the backdoor and opened it. Elliot climbed in and unsnapped the buckles of the carseat slow, as not to scare the boy. Then, lifted him out, gently to make up for his inexperience.

Now that they were face to face. Elliot really looked at him. His glassy eyes were exactly like Tyrell had described them. Unmistakably Wellick. Pale blue with eyelashes so flaxen, they were almost nonexistent. Nothing else quite resembled Tyrell. His lips were fuller and his hair was already darker. Elliot could only assume those features were from Joanna.

"Get out of the car. All you have to do is hold him up around his torso and support his bottom like this," Elliot demonstrated, hiking the boy up on his hip so Tyrell could see. It was more or less like holding Flipper. Tyrell watched with those weepy eyes of his.

The boy instinctively grabbed Elliot's shirt to keep steady. That was one of the few things babies had over dogs, Elliot decided. That grip. The grip that didn't let them fall. The grip that Tyrell needed to feel to get into the fathering spirit.

Tyrell watched them for a moment longer, then ran a hand through his hair. He dragged himself out of the car and stood beside them. With a heavy voice, he began to speak.

"Have you ever met someone named Levi?" He asked. "They've been calling him Levi at the home. He won't respond to anything else now because.of it. I tried to get his attention and call him like I used to but… it's useless."

Elliot looked at the boy. His eyes were a little red like he had just been crying. Exactly like Tyrell. Separation came in many forms. Two specifically for Levi. The initial, when he was taken from his birth parents (or rather when they were taken from him) and the moment he was taken from the home he'd been in. His name was probably all he had left of those people.

Elliot thrust the boy into Tyrell's arms. "Then Levi he is. No use changing his name again."

Tyrell looked like he wanted to argue but couldn't seem to find the zeal to since the job of holding Levi was taking precedence. It was awkward but not terrible. He just sighed and walked toward the house with Levi on his hip. Elliot followed them and studied the silhouette in front of him.

It was so strange to see Tyrell in any position close to fatherhood. He seemed too . . . erratic for that. Elliot was one to talk though.

Almost as if on cue, Tyrell looked back over his shoulder. He pushed open the front door, tossed his car keys on the table and made a beeline for the next room over. He sat Levi down on the floor of the sitting room. No toys, no TV, just a toddler on a rug, swallowed up by the pristine redwood floors.

"Do you think living in an orphanage for the short time he did will stick with him forever?" Tyrell asked while they just sat and watched him. Levi paid them no mind and just slapped at a spot in the carpet, apparently unable to master the intricacies of grabbing.

"How would I know? I'm not a therapist." Elliot shot back despite his own curiosity. He eyed the boy.

Levi had scars, surface level freckles and nicks. Nothing too egregious like Elliot would have gotten from his own mother, but more along the lines of an average child. The skin of a child who didn't have wealthy parents to do his skin care routine every night. Every blemish on his otherwise smooth skin was probably a result of playing, growing, living. 

Other than those few marks, it was honestly impossible to tell. Everyone was different and trauma wasn't like a mole one could get removed or a bruise that faded over time. It was a seed that buried itself deep and grew dormant until the bud made an unexpected appearance. And usually by the time the the bud reared its ugly head, the roots were already tangled around the heart.

There was no telling until it was too late.

For now. The only thing eating away at Levi was himself. He had his fist balled at his mouth. He was starting to whine again. Elliot glanced at Tyrell who looked frantic.

"Chill dude. He's probably hungry," Elliot interjected before Tyrell could start part two of his breakdown.

At the mention of food, Levi looked over and made grabby hands. It was the first sign that perhaps communication wouldn't be as hard as it seemed. 

"I can stay here for a few days to help out or whatever," Elliot suggested. He had no idea what possessed him to offer, but a little part of him hoped Tyrell would say no. He didn't want to get too attached.

When he met Tyrell's eyes again though, he knew the answer.

"Of course you can stay Elliot."

". . . Okay. Cool."

Tyrell blinked. "I could kiss you Elliot."

Elliot glanced at Tyrell, then looked away when they made eye contact. "What are you talking about?"

  
Rather than explain, Tyrell stole a chaste kiss. It was quick, more delicate than one would imagine for someone so intense. Just shy of an actual kiss, but softer than a peck. They both lingered there for a beat, lips pressed but not quite kissing. Then Tyrell pulled away.

Before Elliot could speak, Tyrell was apologizing. "I'm sorry I know how you feel about people but It felt like the right time and–"

"It's okay," Elliot interrupted. 

"What?"

"It's okay." He repeated with a little more certainty. Elliot had no idea where the confidence came from but despite everything, he could actually say he believed it.

**Author's Note:**

> This is a bit fast but I wanted to get it done. I hope you liked it!


End file.
